


Our Gay Apparel

by thelairoevie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A tiny bit, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Christmas (kinda), Clothes Shopping, Fluff, Internalized Acephobia, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist in a skirt, M/M, There's only a little bit of projection, asexual author, just at the end, research era Jontim, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelairoevie/pseuds/thelairoevie
Summary: Jon planned to work through Christmas day, but Tim's a better friend than that.There's nothing wrong with a shopping date on the most wonderful night of the year.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	Our Gay Apparel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pawpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pawpotato).



> This is a gift for my good friend and JonTim connoisseur pawpotato! I hope it's what you were looking for. Merry Christmas!

“You’re not working Christmas.” Tim insisted, swinging his legs over the edge of Jon’s mess of a desk. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all year.”

“I don’t celebrate it,” Jon defended himself. “And the bonus is always decent. It’s not like ghost stories stop needing research come holiday season.” 

“Right! But there are plenty of things we can do that aren’t Christmas related that you’re missing out on! The spiced wine, for one thing.” Tim brought out his most winning smile, the one that opened doors and file cabinets. 

Jon returned it with what, to the untrained eye, was a dry look. But Tim was used to the quirks of this particular co-worker.  _ A serious loner,  _ he had thought, the day that Jon was hired on into the research department.  _ Twink, dark and handsome.  _ It wasn’t unusual for Tim to fall in love five times a day, but with Jon it was different. The minute he had gotten more than the usual pleasantries in, Jon had gone from the mysterious academic to an endearing dork, which was infinitely more dangerous. How was Tim supposed to resist those sweet little secrets, when they were there just for him? When he was amused but being stubborn, Jon smiled with his eyes. Like a high fashion girl, slightly pouty, but amused. 

“You know, none of my plans are set in stone,” He offered, dropping his voice just a little low. Perks of his reputation- he could get away with the jokes and the flirting. There didn’t have to be anything behind it, even if he so desperately wished there were. “You could spend Christmas day with me.” Biting his lip would be a little over the top, he decided, but not before thoroughly considering it. 

“And do what, exactly?” Jon asked, his voice giving him away. He  _ was  _ having fun with this. Perfect. 

Tim searched his brain for ideas. Most of the dates you went on for Christmas eve were inherently Christmas related. Christmas markets and going ‘round to see the lights was out of the question. Jon didn’t look like he could handle ice skating. Tim’s eyes landed on the fray in Jon’s sweater, just by the collar. Beneath it, his button-up was too big despite it’s pristine press. An idea began to form.

“You know, I’m pretty sure that winter clothes are supposed to be on the best sales this time of year. How would you feel about a mall trip makeover?” 

“What is this, a high school movie? There’s nothing wrong with my current clothes.” 

Tim laughed a little too hard at that, and Jon made a genuine frown, picking at his sleeve. “Yeah, you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with your look, it’s just… don’t you want to try something new? I’ll make you look great, I promise. You know I’m the office expert in hot.”

“If you mean the office expert in flirt, maybe.” Jon shot back, laughing back. Jon notably did not turn him down, even as he pretended to be more invested in his notes than the way Tim was leaning slightly forward. “If you’re quite finished, some of us are actually working here.”

Tim breached the gap the rest of the way, watching in case Jon flinched back out of his space. When he didn’t, he reached out to tap his forefinger to Jon’s wide nose. “It’s a date, then.” He hopped off the desk, sauntering out of the room as if being that close, close enough to smell Jon, all dust-and-jasmine-rice with the faintest hint of cigarettes, wasn’t making his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He turned around at the last second, carefully keeping his voice from cracking as he added “If you show up exhausted because you worked through Christmas eve, I’ll never forgive you.” And then he made his way out, before the warmth spreading itself through him reached his face. 

_ A proper romantic tragedy, I am.  _

* * *

Jon couldn’t focus on his work anymore. He barely restrained himself from touching his fingers to the spot where Tim had poked him, hands rough and masculine in a way that Jon’s spindly office-wrought fingers couldn’t replicate. Tim smells like juniper and spice, something drugstore shampoo companies aim hopelessly to match. Jon filed that information away for later, a mythical time he’s set in the distant future, when he swears he’ll unpack all of these feelings he doesn't have time for.

He read the same line about ghosts twice before his mind ripped him away from the present and back to the earlier conversation.  _ It’s a date. That’s just something people say, Jon. Don’t get your hopes up.  _ Still, the way Tim had said it, so close to his own face, with that brief and gentle touch to his face. It felt like something. God, Jon wished it was something.

The thing was, Tim was just… like that. Naturally. As much as his little winks and jokes made Jon’s heart race, they happened the same way with every other barista and secretary, third person on the train. Tim was a flirt and he liked to sleep with people. The whole institute said it. Jon never judged him for that, because it was never as important as the way Tim tugged him by the arm to go get lunch, or told the best jokes, or remembered his coffee order. Still, Jon was pretty sure it was a big part of how Tim was: casual, sexy- something Jon was distinctly not.

That begged the question, though. Did Tim just ask him out on a date? Did Jon want that? 

He pictured Tim’s face when it all came crashing down, when he finally realized Jon couldn’t give him what he wanted. It wasn’t a good thing to picture. Best to just assume this was all platonic, then. Just a good friend looking to spend time with him on Christmas. That didn’t sound all that bad. Fun, even. He took a deep breath and returned to his work, choosing to forget about it until later.

It was 9pm on Christmas Eve when Jon next remembered that he had plans for Christmas day. His phone had buzzed, Tim’s cheerful photo smiling in the corner of the text notification. 

> Hey, you better not still be at work right now! I’m bringing you coffee and some festive pastries at 9am sharp tomorrow- no excuses! ;)

Crap. 

* * *

It should not have taken this much effort for Tim to pick an outfit to go outfit shopping in. How was he going to help Jon into pants that made his arse look  _ perfect _ if he could barely manage fit-but-not-trying with his own wardrobe? 

He sent another picture to Sasha from artifact storage, who went on a date with him once, only to find out that she was god-sent to be his best friend in the universe. She told him that his arms looked better in the first one, but to wear the darker pants. What would he ever do without her?

He turned around in the mirror and mussed up his hair once for good measure. This was going to be fine. It’d be great, actually. He’s going to spend the entirety of one of the most romantic nights of the year with  _ Jon, _ and take enough pictures to bring them up at work until one of them get promoted out of research. 

Sure, it wasn’t too likely that he’s got to do the things he properly dreamed of, like catch him under mistletoe for a kiss, or find an excuse to lead him to a restaurant and buy him a plausibly casual dinner before taking him home, Jon’s slender hands in his… But how much did that really matter? Getting to spoil the crap out of the guy (and see him in a hot new look) was plenty.

He grabbed his haul from the Costa down the road from Jon’s place, grabbing two gingerbread cream lattes (whoops, sorry Jon, I guess they forgot to make it black) and a handful of mincepies. Then, he bounded down the block, not letting the chill or the way he had to carefully balance the drinks take the spring out of his step. He couldn’t help it, he was  _ excited.  _

When Jon opened the crappy apartment door, Tim’s heart did a little jump. His coworker stood in front of him, blinking away bleary sleep as he shuffled about in pajamas that were much too large to have been his originally. His hair stuck out every which way, but that line of tension that he held in his body, the one that pulled him along like a chain when he worked, was gone. 

Tim wanted to hug this man so bad. Instead, he waved the bag of baked goods out for him. “Breakfast!”

Jon mumbled something that feasibly could have been a good morning in reply.

“You... didn’t listen about working through Christmas eve, did you?” Tim’s mock disapproval was only slightly coloured by his actual concern. Did this man ever sleep?

“I- look, the time just got away from me. I didn’t get home much later than ten.” Jon tried to explain. “I’ll be fine once I’ve had some coffee.”

“Nope! Still never gonna forgive you.” Tim said, but he smiled. “I’ll resent you for the rest of your days.” He gave him a playful nudge.

Jon rolled his eyes and reached up to snatch the coffee cup closest to him. His eyes widened after the first sip, and Tim watched the wheels in his head turn and his smile widened as he noticed the flavor of ginger and cinnamon. Jon raised an eyebrow at him, but did not admit to liking the sugary drink. That was okay, Tim figure. It was one of their many little secrets.

After getting caffeine and calories into him, Jon was a lot more like the man Tim usually recognized. He flushed and dragged his feet as Tim invited himself into his bedroom to dig through his closet. 

“I’ve gotta come up with the pre-makeover outfit, Jon, it’s important.”

Jon’s wardrobe didn’t accommodate for exactly what Tim wanted, it seemed like even the smallest he owned was a little baggy on his skinny frame. Still, he managed to find a pair of dark trousers that would match with most things, and a plain white T-shirt. He surveyed his look with pride and more than a little indulgence. Jon looked good in casual.  _ Really  _ good. 

“Perfect!” 

“Tim, this is…”

“You’re gonna be taking all of this on and off a dozen times, Jon. Just wear the t-shirt. You look great!” Tim didn’t have to hide that he thought so, gesturing 

They bundled up in scarves and coats, and then set out to the Bentall Centre. The weather was exactly what Tim could have hoped for: briskly cold, but without rain. The street lamps had decorations with red velvet ribbons and plastic lights in approximate holly shapes. In front of the Centre, the square had a massive Christmas tree, at least two stories tall. Its tinsel and ornamentation glittered in the morning light. Beneath it, about two dozen different little shop stalls were open for the Christmas market. 

“Okay! Stop, there, gotta get a picture with the tree.” Tim pulled out his phone and wrapped an arm around Jon. The excuse to pull him close was well worth it, even if he felt the stab of loss as he eventually pulled away to show him the selfie. It was a beautiful picture, the two of them red-faced from the cold. “I’m keeping this, for blackmail reasons.” 

“That doesn't even make-” Jon started, but Tim was already grabbing his hand and dragging him off into the entrance of the mall. He felt torn between wanting every moment to last forever, and not being able to wait.

* * *

The entrance to the shopping center had Jon feeling small. At four stories high, made of arches of concrete and glass, it felt like a modern temple to some ancient tinsel god. Intricate lights displays hung from the fast glass ceiling, and every storefront and banister had weather and light strings. The whole place smelled like a mixture of food and artificial pine. Cheery Christmas music played through the speakers over the noise of the crowd. It was a whole shining building’s worth of sensation. 

Tim squeezed his hand through the layers of both their gloves, and just like that he was back to himself, solid and centered. His whole life could probably make a whole lot more sense if he got to hold Tim’s hand more often. He watched as Tim said something, he didn’t quite pick up on what, and had to take a moment to keep himself from staring. 

“I’m sorry, I...” 

“I  _ said  _ you get to pick from Zara, Cos, Timberland, and… Hugo Boss. There’s also a sock shop called Happy socks, and us going there is a given.” 

“...I don’t know anything about those brand names, Tim.” Jon responded, confused and out of his depth. 

He watched and Tim dramatically pretended to swoon. “How have you gone more than thirty years of living and you don’t even know what Zara is? You are so very lucky to have my personal expertise, because this is really an outrage.  _ Straight  _ guys are better than that, Jon.” There was an extremely distracting twinkle in his eye when he said this.

“Well, how should I know? Not like I’m straight.” Jon replied, defensively. “I just don’t go shopping much. Never needed to.” 

“Well, that’s why we’re here today, mate.” Tim let go of his hand, and Jon felt the loss immediately. “I think BOSS is closest. Look, they’ve even got a 60% off sale! Let’s go give you that whole  _ elevated  _ thing.” And then he was off, bounding towards some intimidating store, leaving Jon to trail behind. 

Tim had him try on a few things, all of which were a little bit of a struggle to find in Jon’s size. The first was a tailored suit in grey, something that screamed  _ Elias  _ so much that Jon couldn't help but wrinkle his nose up at it. 

“Seriously, Tim?” He asked, once he stepped out in it and was instructed to ‘Pose so I can grab a photo.’

“Hey, someday you’ll be the head of all research or something, and you’ll walk around dressed up like this all the time.”

The next was a sweater that must have been designed to be oversized, because it swallowed him, only pinching close to his form at his neck and at his waist. The sleeves flopped over his wrists. It was an extremely comfortable sweater. 

“Aww, you look like a kitten!” Tim cooed, pinching one of his cheeks. Jon playfully batted his hand away. 

“I look like a grandmother. Next outfit.” 

They eventually found a pair of cotton pants and a button-up that were really nice. The shirt was supposed to be wrinkle-proof, something Tim insisted he needed. When they went up to the counter to pay, though, Tim stepped out in front of him. 

“I got this.” 

“What? Tim, I can pay for my own clothing.” Jon insisted, confused. As far as he was aware, this wasn’t the way shopping outings went. At least, this wasn’t how they had gone with Georgie. 

“I’ve got a bit of extra cash from working in publishing, and it’s Christmas. Let me buy you things.” When Jon gave him an unimpressed look, Tim tried another tactic. He tugged on the sleeve of the shirt and gave him a pouting look, jutting out his lips in a way that enticed Jon to stare. “Please?” 

In his brief lapse of focus as he tried not to think about Tim’s lips, the other man pulled the shirt free from his grip and sprinted for the counter. “Yes! Gotcha.” 

That look of his was dangerous.

* * *

Somewhere between looking for fun things to talk Jon into trying on, Tim noticed Jon staring at something. He had caught Jon looking at  _ him  _ earlier, and it had filled him with undue excitement. Lots of people looked at Tim, he was outgoing and expressive and good looking. Still, those glances from Jon, who turned his attention to other things just a moment before their eyes ever met, sent a jolt of electricity through him. It was different somehow. Special. 

Jon wasn’t looking at him, now. He was looking at a display, featuring a floor-length corduroy skirt. His hands twitched as if he wanted to touch it. Tim walked up quietly behind him. 

“Good eye. You want to try that one on with the crop jacket?” He offered, casually. Jon’s eyes widened and he turned a shade darker before squaring his shoulders and squinting at Tim. He sputtered with his words for a bit, and Tim realized that addressing Jon wanted to wear the skirt aloud might have been a mistake. 

“Come on, I can do it too, though I’m sure you’ll wear it better.” He grabbed identical sets of skirts and jackets, with a plain shirt underneath. One set in small, the other in large. Jon’s shoulders seemed to visibly relax, but he still struggled to find words. 

Once he’d gotten the skirt on and set about popping the collar of the jacket, Tim stepped out of the little changing stall. In the mirror, he let himself frown a little at how poorly-suited the skirt was on him. Tim was a man of motion and colour, and brown corduroy offered none of that. His strong, long legs, one of his greatest assets, disappeared beneath the dull cloth. He would have done better with one of the knee-length ones that flared out.

All thoughts of his own look faded into the distance as Jon stepped out. On him, the skirt was almost lose, and swayed with grace as he stepped. The colour made his skin look warm to the point of glowing, and the jacket fell at just the right place on his torso. This look was  _ made  _ for Jon. 

Tim felt his will grow ever weaker against the rash part of him that regularly saw Jon and told him to drop to one knee on the spot. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and grinned, fighting back the urge to flush. “God, we look good.” He took some more pictures, and couldn’t deny it was for entirely selfish reasons. Jon was a work of art and Tim sure as hell wanted photo evidence that he’s been there to see it. 

“You think so?” Jon asked a shy hopeful voice that knocked the breath out of Tim. 

“Yeah. Hell, if you don’t get it, I’m getting it for you.”

* * *

The rest of the evening was more than Jon could have ever asked for. Tim seemed to intuitively know what would get Jon to smile the most, and when he smiled back, Jon couldn't find any reason in the universe to complain. Once the morning crept into the afternoon, which found itself drawing to a close, however, Jon was reminded that these good things tended to end.

“Let’s get something to eat, yeah?” Tim offered, already leading Jon towards a mid-scale Mediterranean place. “I’m starved.”

The lead feeling in his stomach crushed any hope of an appetite, but Jon followed. God, he didn’t know if he was allowed to ask to do this again. Even if it was just Christmas, next year. The low restaurant light lit up Tim’s face like a painting. Better, even, because Jon tended to just scoff at paintings.

They ordered their food, and Jon picked at it for maybe five minutes of silence before the tension became too much to bear. 

“Tim, I-- are we-- is this a date? A romantic one?” He sputtered out, and instantaneously regretted it. What kind of question was that? 

Tim just looked a little confused. “...Yeah?” He replied, dragging out the word. His confusion switched into sincerity. “Jon, I like you. I want you to get out and have fun. Preferably while with me. I’d like to date you.”

There was a long, heavy pause as Jon tried to force his brain to think, to move past the words ‘I like you.’ Finally, Tim took a breath and a swig from his water, opening his mouth to speak. 

“Do you want to do this?” Tim asked, causally. Jon looked up, and nothing about the way Tom was looking at him was casual. “Date, I mean.”

And Jon’s stupid, never-did-him-well awful mouth started with “I can’t-” 

Tim’s face fell like a billboard that lost it’s supports. For an instant, it was there in that crushed disappointment Jon was dreading, and then he seemed to take control of it, until it was a well-practiced blank cheer, that almost hurt more. Jon needed to fix this, now. 

“Wait!” He cried, reaching across the table for Tim’s hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to say… I like you, Tim. You’re easily the brightest thing in my life these days. But, I’m not a good fit for you. I… I’m an ass, I work too late and don’t give people the time of day, and I ramble, and I won’t have sex with you.” 

Tim’s eye’s widened. “Is that what this is about? You think I’m after sex?” Jon couldn’t figure out his expression, and he wasn’t convinced that was a good thing. 

“I- yes?” 

Jon watched with confusion as Tim let out an exasperated groan and dragged a hand over his face. Tim was muttering something about stupid gossip under his breath. Jon was already scripting the way he was going to rock miserably in his bed and overthink every detail of this awful conversation. 

Suddenly, Tim’s hand was on his face, gently bringing Jon to gaze into his eyes. “Look. I don’t know what you heard about me, but I am  _ not  _ the guy who just brings people into his life for sex, or because I expect it. If I want to go on dates with you, or, or hold your hand, or kiss your stupid mouth shut, it’s not going to hinge on whether or not you’re asexual. And I do. I want that, in the serious way.”

Jon’s walls held, his suspicions and blunt personality, his long-term lonely history bracing against the instinct to take the opening that Tim was holding out and sink into it headfirst. He held that protective layer for a second, for two. And then it broke, and a wash of bright excitement and fondness and hope hit Jon. 

“Yes, yes! I mean- I also want that.” Jon’s hand was still over Tim’s and he took the opportunity to squeeze gently. It felt like a dream, it all did, but Tim was there, solid and grounding.

Tim’s smile lit up the room more than any of the little LED lights. When he leaned in with his eyes closed, closer into Jon's space than he'd ever been before, he couldn't bring himself to regret a single thing. Their lips touched, and all of it was magic.   


Maybe now Jon had a good reason to celebrate Christmas.


End file.
